Chapter Two
Savannah
It’s official. Today is the worst day ever.
By the time I get home, I’m drenched from the rain, my favorite flats are ruined, and I’ve somehow managed to drop my phone in a puddle. The universe clearly has it out for me.
After a hot shower, I put on an oversized hoodie that smells like fabric softener and self-pity. I curl up on the couch with a glass of wine and a fleeting desire to watch something mindless. But, of course, after a few hours, Netflix asks that damning question: Are you still watching?
No, Netflix, I’m not. I’m reevaluating my life choices and hating myself for yet another weekend spent on my couch.
I’m five episodes into rewatching Parks and Recreation when it hits me: Sarah is right. I am in a rut. The only interaction I’ve had with a man lately is Rylan delivering my monthly dose of mortification.
With a groan, I grab my still-damp phone and open Tinder. The app blares its neon-red logo at me, mocking my singlehood. My thumb hovers over the familiar profiles: guy with a fish, gym selfie dude, and . . . wait, is that a picture of someone’s dad? I swipe left until my thumb cramps.
That’s when I see him: Tinder Guy (because I’ve given up learning names before meeting anyone in person). He’s cute enough—dark hair, scruffy beard, nice smile. His bio says he’s into "Italian food, bad jokes, and spontaneous adventures." Basic but tolerable. More importantly, we matched a week ago, and he already sent a message: Hey there, Savannah. You’ve got a gorgeous smile.
Well, at least someone’s trying. I click into the thread.
Tinder Guy
Hey there, Savannah. You’ve got a gorgeous smile.
Me
Thanks! That’s kind of you to say.
Tinder Guy
Just being honest. How’s your week going?
Me
Do you want the nice answer or the truth?
Tinder Guy
Let’s go with the truth.
Me
It’s been a disaster, honestly. Work sucked, my shoes are ruined, and my phone nearly drowned.
Tinder Guy
Ouch. Sounds like you deserve a little pick-me-up.
Me
I could use one. Got any suggestions?
Tinder Guy
I happen to be excellent at cheering people up. Maybe I can show you sometime?
Me
Bold move. What do you have in mind?
Tinder Guy
Drinks? I know a great little spot downtown. Or I could bring over a bottle of wine and some bad jokes.
Me
Home delivery service? That’s tempting.
Tinder Guy
I aim to please. What do you say?
I stare at his last message, hesitating. Is this a terrible idea? Probably. But then I glance at the bottle of wine on the coffee table—half-empty and all the company I’ve had tonight—and before I can talk myself out of it, I type:
Me
Fine. But if the jokes are terrible, I’m kicking you out.
Tinder Guy
Deal. Text me your address?
I bite my lip, second-guessing myself for half a second before sending it. What’s the worst that could happen? A mediocre date and an awkward goodbye?
Or maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something I might find tolerable.
Twenty minutes later, I’m pacing the living room, second-guessing everything. Why did I agree to this? My wine buzz is wearing off, and the reality of inviting a stranger over is settling in. But before I can cancel, headlights sweep across my window. He’s here.
I take a deep breath, plaster on a smile, and open the door.
It’s going to be fine. Probably.